Of Necromancy and Forbidden Arts
by Piggy Hell
Summary: Hidden behind a facade all his life as someone weak and mild. With his inheritance though Harry's other side comes out to play. Cunning and Dark...beware wizards the tides of change draws near. Do not fear your redemption is here HP/Jacob Twilight X-Over
1. Fated

A/N: Harry Potter has had a shitty life. Annoyed with how little control he has of his own fate. He has decided enough is enough. With the inheritance under his belt, Harry Potter will be a whole new man…Dark! Very Evil! Unreasonable! Wahaha

Warning: NC 18 (possibly)

Pairing: Harry/OMC (probably slash)

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all its characters belong to J.K Rowling. I am not making any money out of this (as if anyone would buy it). Anything else I suppose belongs to various people cramming ideas into my head from all their stories. Oh and Twilight belongs to Stephanie Meyers. Sobs uncontrollably.

'…' - thoughts

"…" - speech

* * *

**Of Necromancy and Forbidden Arts**

Chapter One – Fate's Bitch

Harry Potter's Point of View

Fate is a bitch. Harry decided.

If his life was anything to go by, he was sure Fate had him on a very tight leash.

Since coming back to this hellhole 'A la Dursley', his beloved uncle threw several pages of chores at his feet and demanded they be finished that very weekend (or else). He was sure Dobby would orgasm with envy.

Do house elves orgasm?

It was bloody long. Paint the fence, weed the grass, mow the lawn, clean the car, cook meals, etc. With age restriction on his magic over the summer, he'd be spending every waking moment doing that damn list.

As if he couldn't be any more of a slave. Hell…that wasn't the end of it.

His uncle, for the gigantic whale that he is, has decided with a 'spur of genius moment' to board his door with so many locks his room is probably safer than a Gringotts vault.

How bloody absurd.

Lying awake on his slightly smelly bed, staring at the peeling paint on his ceiling, Harry couldn't remember why he was contemplating how many ways he could 'off' himself and spite Petunia at the same time. Her favorite kitchen knife suddenly became his favorite as well.

Sighing in defeat 'This wasn't part of the plan' he thought to himself.

-

oOo-----------oOo

-

FLASHBACK

Hidden away in a dark corner of the restricted section under an invisible cloak, sat a small human with black unruly hair. Every night it sat there, unmoving undisturbed.

Unsurprisingly that little human was none other than Harry Potter.

What was he doing in the restricted section at such a late hour you say?

Reading about forbidden arts of course! How silly of you to ask.

Emerald eyes glowing with excitement and joy. Harry gave undivided attention to the book currently clutched between nimble fingers lovingly.

He was most fortunate stumbling across this very book. Headmaster Dumbledore once tried to find it and rid its presence from his school. Like having a mind of its own...it hid from view never to be found. Waiting. Biding its time. To meet someone worthy. Curious and strong willed enough to hold it, and not fall into the dark magic it housed.

Harry Potter...was such a person it appears. Stumbling his way through the dark arts section, not looking where he went. Kicking an expensive looking book in surprise. Picking it up he read '_Necromancy - The World Beyond' by 'Her Royal Darkness - Queen Gwendolyn'_

Why is Harry in the restricted section?

Funny story that.

It was a month ago that Harry found himself surrounded by his closest friends lounging about in the Gryffindor common room by Ron, Hermoine and Ginny.

Harry sat on a one-man couch staring out at the clouds without a care to the world. Lost in his thought.

Ron trying to finish a potion's essay due tomorrow morning, while at the same time attempting to steal Hermione's finished one lying not a few centimeters away. And failing miserably at being unnoticed.

Hermoine sat perched on an overly large chair reading through '_Hogwarts: A History'_ twirling her wand in one hand, every now and then smacking a stray finger inching towards her finished homework without looking up from the pages.

Ginny…he thought to himself with a shudder. Ginny was writing something Harry didn't bother to ask. And every now and then she would glance up to stare at him. Eyes filled with unnamed emotion.

Harry didn't recognize what emotion it held. He really didn't want to find out. Really _really _didn't.

Even when he was away in 'la la land', he noticed her stares. It gave him the creeps.

Afraid of ever being at the wrong end of another 'love potion' incident. Harry vowed to find some sort of protection against them or at least girls with unhealthy obsession with the-boy-who-lived-with-many-titles-and-hyphens.

So...he found himself wandering aimlessly in the library, without much success might he add, to finding suitable spell books to ward off unwelcomed advances. So…with a determined mind and a silent apology to Dumbledore.

Harry Potter broke the rules…and wandered down into the restricted section.

Nervous and apprehensive. But yet, curious and strong willed.

The perfect candidate.

And that was where Harry Potter felt he literally stumbled and picked up a piece of his destiny.

In the form of a book.

END FLASHBACK

-

oOo-----------oOo

-

Rolling his eyes at that memory, Harry remembered the spells Flitwick taught him when he went to ask the petite Charm's professor complaining all the while about too many books in his bag and how heavy it was. The professor, busy as he was, taught Harry the transfera charm allowing books after books to copy itself into one single compact and light weight diary.

Harry had made use of that very interesting charm many times. In the restricted section of course. There was hardly any books from there he didn't own a copy of.

But now…now it was locked under the cupboard under the stairs. His previous room. Under so many locks and bolts he couldn't even see the actual door itself.

Sighing in defeat. Harry Potter fluffed up his yellowish pillow and went to sleep. Wishing for once he had more chores to do…just so he wouldn't mourn at his locked up prized possession.

-

oOo-----------oOo

-

Well...

While Harry Potter slept on...dreaming about the endless possibilities his new book could bring. Or about Petunia's favorite kitchen knife.

He has forgotten one very important detail. Or should he say one very important day of his life. A day so important. That everyone in Britain knew about it.

In approximately 20 seconds and counting…

10...

Harry Potter would reach the age of maturity, 17. A number revered by the Magical Word as one that foretold a child's coming of age and magical maturity. A time where the sons and daughters shall inherit their family's traits and inheritance, magical creatures and all…

3...

2...

1...

'Dong' the grandfather clock Harry Potter finished cleaning an hour ago strikes twelve signaling midnight.

Too late Harry Potter…

You should have been prepared. After all…the Potter clan was as ancient and noble, if not much more so, than the House of Black.

-

oOo-----------oOo

-

In the smallest bedroom on Number 4 Privet Drive, Surrey. A dark and foreboding shadow exploded from within the cupboard under the stairs seeping through cracks and corners into the room where the-boy-who-lived laid unconscious to the world. Cocooning and caressing his body like a lost love. Leaving in its wake trails of beautiful patterns on the creamy white skin.

As soon as it came…it was gone, leaving the young man asleep peacefully on his bed…

All was calm and normal once again in the Dursley's household. Not a trace of darkness or shadows in the overly clean house.

Seconds pass, the boy suddenly snapped open his bright glowing green eyes. Arching his back off the bed mouths opened wide. And with one last thought before pain consume the boy completely

'_Shit'_

And let loose…and unholy scream.

-

oOo-----------oOo

-

* * *

There we have it. The first ever chapter of my first ever story. Short as hell but well that's all I got so far. Maybe a longer chapter to come.

Peace out aha.

Yes there's been some changes to the future characters. - -

Author didn't know what he was thinking doing a Step Up crossover. Wouldn't have worked anyways.

Just had the inspiration for it.

Wahaha

Oh and Twilight belongs to Stephanie Meyers. Sobs uncontrollably.


	2. A Time of Change

Warning: NC 18 (possibly)

Pairing: Harry/OMC (probably slash)

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all its characters belong to J.K Rowling. I am not making any money out of this (as if anyone would buy it). Anything else I suppose belongs to various people cramming ideas into my head from all their stories. Oh and Twilight belongs to Stephanie Meyers. Sobs uncontrollably.

'…' - thoughts

"…" - speech

* * *

**Of Necromancy and Forbidden Arts**

**Chapter Two – A time for change**

**Harry Potter's Point of View**

If there was ever a time Harry wished to have a painless death. Now would be about the right time.

No. In fact…this would be a bloody great time.

Never in his life has he felt this much agony. He was hoping Voldermort could feel this through their link. It'd sure make his day.

'Bloody hell…somebody Avada me' Harry repeated that thought over and over.

'_Please'_ he begged through his scream.

His nerves felt scorched with feindfire, sharp spear-like prickles wracked his body from head to toe. His throat constricted and hoarse from the wraithlike wail, bones breaking and rearranging themselves over and over stretching and tearing at his skin each agonizing inch.

In the haze of endless pain, he could make out a looming darkness hovering around his body. He felt them. Slow lover's caress across his skin leaving behind trails of scorching hot flames and icy sharpness in its wake.

'Merlin…_stop_ touching me_'_ was the only thing his addled mind could think of.

It felt like days has passed. But it could have been seconds. When the numbness didn't kick it like it normally did the time he broke his arm. Harry deduced that it must have been seconds.

How he could have made an intelligent insight through the pain he didn't know.

He just knew that it bloody hurts. So very much.

'_Please_. _Just stop_' was Harry's last pleading thought before falling into endless darkness.

Then everything was calm once more.

If you didn't count the lingering echoes Harry Potter's screams bouncing off the walls.

-

oOo-----------oOo

-

**Headmaster Dumbledore Office**

In the midst of silence and twinkling lights sparkling from trinkets spread haphazardly across the Headmaster of Hogwart's office. A translucent oval shaped sphere sat within its glass cage atop expensive mahogany cabinet, emitting a soft green hue every now and then.

Suddenly the green hue turned onyx black pulsing with wild untamed magic rattling its glassy prison. Dark cloud and mist poured out from the translucent sphere threatening to escape from beneath its cage.

Fawkes perched atop its golden stand blinked open one amber eye to slowly glance at the now rattling mahogany cabinet. With a spark of recognition flaring within its age old eyes, the phoenix took flight from its perch to circle the room thrilling softly into the night air.

With another thrill and a flap of its magnificent tail, red flames enveloped the cabinet and its inhabitant to a blinding brilliant gold.

As the fire extinguished, the cabinet was no longer shaking. The sphere returned to its soft green hue. And all was calm once more.

Giving a thrill of satisfaction. Fawkes glided back to its perch near the office table and resumed its position. Eyes closed, neck tucked to its plump chest.

Silence resumed.

Not a moment later, Albus Dumbledore in all his twinkling rainbow glory appeared with a small 'pop' into the middle of his office. Eyes devoid of its ever present twinkle

Wands raised and a predatory stance at the ready that belied his age.

A quick once over of the office for intruders, glancing around to monitor his many trinkets, bypassing a sleeping Fawkes to stop briefly and stared at the oval shaped sphere glowing softly with unreadable eyes.

Pursing his lips, Albus Dumbledore lowered his wand. Giving another thorough once over and finding nothing out of the ordinary (for him). His eyes retaining its ever infuriating twinkles. Relaxing his stance, patting down his very bright rainbow colored night gown and smiling. Spun in place only to disappear with a light 'pop'.

Silly Headmaster. (Author: Wahaha)

A person as smart as yourself...should know enough to never underestimate animals and magical beings. For instance...your ever present phoenix.

That old bird is much craftier than you are. With a thousand's year of experience under its belt and all. (Do phoenixes wear belt?)

(Author couldn't resist jabbing at the Headmaster. Maybe good? Maybe evil? Who knows?)

Perhaps a little more scruntiny at the flaming bird would have clued him in as to what had disturbed his sleep in the first place. For within the lightly burning ashes at the bird's feet, small tendrils of black mist curled around a single fallen tail feather before being absorbed by the heat.

A soft thrill echoed once more into the silent room.

-

oOo-----------oOo

-

**Vernon Point of view**

Vernon Dursley was very much a private person who values 'normalcy' above all things. It was probably due to the arrival of his nephew all that long years ago which only reinforced it.

If you were not 'normal' in any way shape or form. Then Vernon Dursley will not associate with you. Even going so far as to sneering or a degrading comment here and there should he feel like it, or if opportunity presents itself. Vernon was just that kind of man.

He even had a mental black list for abnormal freaks kept at the forefront of his mind. On full security alert. Annoying alarm bells and all.

And at the top of that very long list. Was one Harry Potter. The number one freak of them all.

If looks could kill…Potter would have been buried in their back yard under Petunia's rose bush at least 15 years ago. And with no tombstone. Just because Vernon didn't feel like the boy should get one.

But sadly Potter was very much alive. And kicking. And living in his Dudder's second bedroom. Grrr. Waste of living space.

Still. Vernon was glad the boy didn't die from his death glare. Because that would seem abnormal. A good abnormal. But still abnormal.

Vernon Dursley did not do abnormal.

At all.

So. When Vernon happily slept through a 'normal' day and started a snoring harmony with his baby-whale of a son loud enough for the neighbours to hear. He expected to wake up the next day. To a normal household and a very normal breakfast.

But as it so happens. Fate didn't really like Vernon. She personally thought he was weird...abnormal. With how much bacon he consumes a day and all. (Ha. That'd piss him off real good)

Startled out of dreams, wobbly limbs flailing and falling ungraciously off the bed onto his VERY large behind with a loud 'thud'. Immediately covering his ears as fast as humanly possible (or as fast as his heavy arms would allow) from that terrifying shriek (and his wife's murderous screams) did Vernon even start to comprehend the sound actually stopped a while ago…although his wife was still going strong. Ah…I guess that was the extended ringing in his ear then. Impressive lungs she has.

Snapping out of his sleep induced haze and shaking his head side to side. Vernon was then sober enough to feel two emotions.

Pissed. And angry.

"_Potter_" he hissed in rage.

Scrambling and struggling to stand. Vernon stumbled across his room and to his closet, turning around briefly enough to snap a 'shut the bloody hell up' to his still screaming wife (which she did so with a click of her jaws – staring at her husband with unconcealed horror and a little bit of indignation).

Throwing out his wife's undergarments and grabbing his polished and shiny rifle, Vernon hastily loaded the thing grumbling all the way 'gonna teach him' and 'doing a service to the world' plus some 'crazy wife…abnormal freak...bang bang'.

With a 'click' the rifle successfully reloaded, Vernon gave a small triumphant cheer and propped the rifle atop his left shoulder. Index finger clicked off the safety, going into trigger happy mode, Vernon stomped out his room, grabbing a set of jiggling key along the way.

Destination?

The very securely locked door next to his son's bedroom. An insane smirk adorned his moustache covered lip.

-

oOo-----------oOo

-

**Ministry of Magic **

Deep beneath the city of London. A beautiful building lay. Somehow surviving between the layers of rocks and dirt. Well...with magic. Anything is possible really.

The British Government's one and only. Ministry of Magic. Dark and foreboding without wandering residence. Only the sound of flowing water from the large golden fountain/statue placed at the entrance.

A variety of parchments floated overhead. Banners and posters of wanted fugutives and Death-Eaters littering the high halls. Support Fudge some says. While others simply depict rules and regulations.

But underneath all the layers of Wizarding normaly. A single department slept in silence. Only ever disturbed by one or two passerbys or stray messages from important people.

However. It was just a while ago that this department played host to a number of guests.

Underaged magical students.

Dark members of the society.

Light's representatives.

An epic battle and one lost life. Nothing fancy.

The Department of Mysteries. Home to the Unspekables.

Deep into the maze of countless corridors and multi-colored doors making up the department itself.

Passing doors housing dangerous and unknown artifacts through the ages. Historical tomes and failed experiments.

A plain looking door. A small dusty room. Housing useless portraits and books unused by the modern community. Hung a single portrait of twinkling stars and creepy looking graveyard covered with white mist. Unvisited and untouched through the years it gathered dusts and cobwebs, dulling the gold frames it hung in and covering its colors.

Today it was different though. Today it glows a soft forest green, surrounded by a thick layer of misty fog circling the frame's edge.

Then the strangest of things occured.

The twinkling stars increased its light. Shining brightly across layers of dust, dissipating it from the canvas completely. Only for the stars themselve to die down and wink out of the picture. Pitching the canvas into darkness as if the stars themselve represented seeing light.

The fog circling golden frame suddenly crept across and over the canvase, disappearing right into it. To swirl madly and depict another portrait of one regal woman seated imperially on a throne of black skulls. Surrounded by thousands of decaying magical beasts corpses and humans alike. Eyes shut. An eerie smile on those perfectly formed lips. Skin as white as mother pearl, hair the color of spun gold. A nimble and small hand resting atop what looks to be a decaying dragon's skull still oozing black blood and rotting flesh, in reminiscence of a loving pat.

As the forest green hue died down, two perfect formed orbs snapped open. Glowing an eerie white.

And if you look real close…

Bold and courageous enough…

To gaze upon those glowing pale eyes you shall see…

You shall indeed see…

A gorgeous red star staring out from behind those orbs…

So red...

One could say…if you ever had the pleasure of seeing it…

The beautiful fountain of blood from a freshly slit throat…of a begging man in despair…

* * *

Oooh. I make horrible cliff hangers.

Well chapter two is finally up. Had it written a while now. Changed it probably a million times and still not into the starting point of this story.

But it's getting there.

(Hides and runs away in shame)

I know this story is probably not up to the normal standards but I'm not a story writer.

Failed spectacularly at creative writing.


	3. Bang Bang

Warning: NC 18 (possibly)

Pairing: Harry/OMC (probably slash)

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all its characters belong to J.K Rowling. I am not making any money out of this (as if anyone would buy it). Anything else I suppose belongs to various people cramming ideas into my head from all their stories. Oh and Twilight belongs to Stephanie Meyers. Sobs uncontrollably.

'…' - thoughts

"…" – speech

* * *

**Of Necromancy and Forbidden Arts**

**Chapter 3 – Bang Bang  
**

Darkness. That was everything he could see at this point. Encompassing darkness.

Harry didn't know how long he's been there. Didn't remember how he's gotten here, in the first place. Wherever here is.

But he remembered pleading. And begging for the pain to stop.

And then here he was. Not in pain anymore.

Glad that his plea came true. Confused at why it came true and what he was doing here. Harry Potter was certain of one thing and one thing only. The fact that he remembered screaming at the top of his lungs like a banshee in his bedroom was what made him so sure.

That when he got out of here. When he wakes up from wherever this place is. He just _knew._ The first thing his emeral green eyes (bless you mom) would come to see. Will be the angry purple face of his loving uncle and his beloved rifle. 'Ms. Bang-a-lot', pointing straight between his eyebrows.

Then bang goes the rifle, he imagined. Chuckling at the thought of death once more. He imagined where his face would be.

Splattered along with his brain across the back wall like some mural painting gone wrong that'd where it would be.

Shuddering at the thought of Vernon and his trusty rifle. It always gave him goosebumps. The amount of time he'd walk in on Vernon polishing the rifle lovingly while watching discovery channel made his eye brows all twitchy. The sight would have made a fully grown man run screaming like a little ninny wetting their pants along the way.

It made him feel like a peeping tom. Yuck. The way Vernon would run velvet cloth along the shaft of the gun slowly and loving always made Harry run to the bathroom and hurl nonexistent food into the toilet. It was like stumbling across a man doing a strenuous _activity_ with his right hand by accident. It was not a pretty sight.

Things like that...or anything resembling that should always be behind closed doors. Or in the case of Vernon, behind a very locked and soundproof door. And if at all possible, a strongly added silencing charm. Cast numerous time for good measures.

He actually considered sending a brief urgent note with Hedwig to Professor Dumbledor written in blood '_My eyes!!!! They burnnnnnn!!! They burn!!! Arrggh!!!'_ and requesting immediate therapy session with the best St. Mungo could provide him. But alas...he decided against it. Wasn't worth the drama he'd have to pull. But also silently afraid that the psychologist might ask him to repeat the events...with words...numerous times.

The mental picture accompaying that was _not_ worth all the gold in Gringotts in his god honest opinion.

Rumble. As Harry drifted away with his thoughts, the darkness around him started to shake and rumble. Like groaning mountains and rolling thunderstorms. It struck.

Once. Twice. Each time growing heavier and stronger, shaking the darkness to its very foundation.

Struck out of his thought, flabbergast at the sheer volume ricocheting around in the darkness and the fact that he was unaffected by it. No pounding headache, throbbing in his ear drums. Dizziness. Nothing.

As if he wasn't standing on anything, or the shaking panoramic view not registering. It made him feel separated...odd, for the lack of a better word.

Suddenly he found himself doubling over from a sharp pain tugging at his middle like that of a port key. A faint growl found its way from deep within his throat. Blinking several times in surprise. Pain forgotten. Green eyes widened slightly in alarm at the uncharacteristic behavior.

Before he had the time to process that thought any further. A 'what..?' forming in his mind before he found himself lost in darkness. Blissful darkness.

-

oOo-----------oOo

-

Vernon Dursley stood in front of his nephew's multi-locked door fumbling with the keys jiggling between his chubby fingers.

"Ruddy useless thing!" he roared "What the bloody use is this shit if it won't even open?!"

Vernon screamed. Infuriated at the many failed attempts to unlocking the various locks littered along the door edges, he threw the bundle against the opposite wall. Leaving scratch marks upon impact, enraging him further.

Screaming out in frustration, Vernon threw reasons to the four winds. Dropping his beloved 'Ms. Bang-a-lot' unceremoniously to the floor, he proceeded to throw a temper tantrum Dudley would find hard pressed to outdo at the innocent looking door. Banging and kicking with all his might repeatedly until the door rattled and vibrated angrily.

Tired and sore from the abuse done to his hands and feet he ceased his actions. Face growing blue and purple, twisted with rage and pain (think angry pug+bulldog and Marge). Stomping his feet like a petulant child. He picked up his rifle and took aim at the bruised door. Narrowing his eyes, lips pursed. Vernon pulled the trigger.

BANG

The gunshot reverberated through the walls and floors and into the neighborhood. Rifle barrel smoking slightly, chipped and splintered wood blew inwards littering onto Harry's bedroom floor. A decent sized hole in the middle of the thin wooden door.

With a triumphant smile, Vernon raised his right foot. Back and shoulders braced against the opposite wall and launched a kicked straight above the hole.

CRACK! BANG!

The door cracked and splintered in half, the right half stayed attached to the locks while the left swung with force into the side walls, bringing down several layers of dust and wall chippings.

Pushing his overweight body through half the door with great difficulty, grazing his arms and belly with splinters slightly along the way leaving red scratches on his pink skin. Stumbling into the old dresser near the door with a grutn and a triumphant 'Aha!' Vernon snapped his head towards the direction of his freak nephew, threats spewing out venomously through his lips before his eyes met its target.

"You wretched freak! We took the abomination you are into our house. Fed you, clothed you and gave you shelter. And this is the reward we get! Threats from your _freak_ friends? Not a single penny paid for wasting our money on you instead of Dudders! You've been ungrateful for long enough _boy_. It's high time you made yourself useful for once. A live target for Ms. Bang-a-lot would do very _nicely_"

Vernon hissed out in contempt, spittle flying out every other word, face red with unconcealed anger.

With an ugly sneer, Vernon raised his trusty rifle to the boy's unruly mop of hair, the boy's face looking down, concealed in shadow. With every intention to splatter the freak's brain into the wall behind it, he steading himself like he would hunting wild ducks.

Left foot forward, right food digging into the carpet below. One eye locked into the target circle, tongue sticking out slightly.

Vernon took aim.

-

oOo-----------oOo

-

On the opposite side of the door, the pounding sent cupboards, night lamps and old picture frames skittering off its place. Green eyes snapped open in surprise and shock.

Still reeling in confusion from his dreamscape, Harry stared down at his soaked sheets almost blankly. His brain attempting to process everything that happened all at once, failed to realize the shocks that rattled the furniture in his room or the loud bang of gunshot.

Shaking his head sideways, trying to clear the silver spots dancing between his blurry visions, threatening to make him faint. Hearing a faint crack and pounding from somewhere, Harry raised up his head a little to squint at the floor board next to his bed, making out a pudgy foot and blue pajamas.

'Wha…?' was the eloquent question his mind could come up with at the moment.

More faint shouts and rumblings filled his ears, making him furrow his brows with irritation and a little confusion. Looking up in time to see the rear end of a rifle he thought

'Oh _shit_. It's Ms. Bang-a-lot'

It would seem...Harry Potter has some skills with divination.

-

oOo-----------oOo

-

**Vernon Dursley Perspective **

"Any last words _freak?_"

He drawled out with contempt and excitement.

Getting no response from his target, Vernon 'tsked' softly and cocked his rifle.

-

oOo-----------oOo

-

At the same time Harry Potter raised his head to stare at the ends of Vernon's rifle. Emerald green meeting pitch black for a brief moment.

The sweaty eye brows of Vernon Dursley rose marginally as pudgy finger squeezed on the small trigger. A smirk planted on his lips.

-

oOo-----------oOo

-

Time stood still for that moment. Emerald eyes darted to baby blue and widened in alarm.

The faint 'click' of the trigger sounded deafening to the silent room, overshadowing the soft gasps that parted way from chapped lips.

-

oOo-----------oOo

-

'Bang'

The sound of gunshot rang true.

* * *

Cliffieee

Tee hee hee amazingly I finished chapter three the same day I finished chapter 2.

So much free time on my hands will do that I suppose.

A short chapter I know. But I will try to make the others longer once I get the hang of it.


	4. Author's Note DO READ

**From Author to Reader**

* * *

Well readers. I suppose there is a reason why some if not all authors like to conduct a series of author's notes in between chapters. It's taken quite a while to sink in that people may not understand Harry Potter and his character…and assume the characteristics he reveals in the chapters for what it was (on a general basis).

-

oOo-----------oOo

-

So…I deemed it more interesting to share with the rest of the world what kind of character Harry Potter (in my story) really is. The personalities he presents to the world at large will play a large part to the general outcome of certain events, while there will be whole chapters dedicated to his personal insights better known as Harry's Mindscape.

Really I think no one has actually dedicated the actual thought processes for the readers in their stories. If there are it's probably not going to be in the details that I'll be putting it. Wouldn't it be interesting to know why things happen a certain way (in regards to Harry's choices). If you're a reader like myself, who likes to get involve mentally reading into why people act the way they do then I hope you will like those Harry mindscape. It might shock you in regards to why he does things a certain way and how he thinks of people and different events.

I apologize beforehand if some readers get bored with how slow the story has progressed up until this point. It's a trial period I promise. Wanted to get used to writing different point of view and how well they connect to each other. For now the story will be strange jumping from certain people to another.

-

oOo-----------oOo

-

A little information about the timeline might be in order here I think.

Since Harry Potter is turning of age and apparently Dumbledore is not dead. I suppose it'll have to ignore certain things that happened in the books. I've based the storyline to ignore Half Blood Prince or whatever book Dumbledore dies in because I want Dumbledore's character to play a certain role.

Yes. This story has a long plot line that does seem to revolve mainly around two separate worlds. There will be no time difference played here. And a slight spoiler to anyone that reads this author's note. If not then they will find out later on when it actually happens. There will be no time warp and yes there will be a lot of dead characters from the Wizarding world and that's how it's going to be. I love getting rid of people. Makes the story that much easier to progress when there are not too many characters to put in.

-

oOo-----------oOo

-

Harry Potter's character and personality is reflected in the way he processes things and how he view the world and himself in general. I suppose it's based partially from the author's own characteristics in a way. He is rather cynical, morbid and generally curious and attracted to what would be deemed dangerous to the rest of the world. However, it is because he views the world for what it is; black, white and its different shades of grays. His personality when reading from normal view point and personal viewpoint will be very different due to the fact that he has multiple personalities. Or rather a single personality to hide behind. I personally do admit that this personality is a direct replica of myself and how I let the world in general see me. There is only one person in this world who has actually seen the person underneath. And I was surprised she actually the brief slip for what it was. Even more surprisingly that she cried and gave me such a big hug and the brighest smile I've ever seen on her face. I am anxious to represent a main character's personality using my own as it does expose a part of me. But I believe it is a reasonable choice, the best person to write about is yourself I suppose.

Continue.

Harry understands perfectly well that the world is a struggle. Living life is a struggle, and that there are certain elements he cannot show to the rest of the world because he knows how unaccepting they are. He is also manipulative to a point when he chooses to, playing on emotions and suggestions to get what he wants. Subtle hints and nudges for people to play along without letting on to the actual reasons behind things. He has learnt to be this way through practice and having the Dursleys as role models.

He knowns the tricks and trades, understands different people and how to approach. Which leads him to being able to adapt very well to changes that occurs around him and on himself.

If you believe that Harry Potter will be a nice character then you must not have read the intro very well. Potter will be dark. He lacks the compassion when killing people either evil or innocent. Not that he lacks moral or anything but because he balances moral and scientific ideas together really well. He regrests killing and deaths but refuses to dwell on them for a long period of time as it is useless to do so.

The best spoiler of this is that there will be ………(**if you do not want to read this then I suggest you skip straight to the next paragraph right away**) many chapters detailing his lifetime with a coven of vampires, namely the Volturi. No I will not tell you more about it just know that I find the Volturi exceedingly attractive in terms of their powers and control over vampires.

And no I have not decided on what creature or bloodline Harry Potter will become. But there are some that I have in mind. And no I will not share them with any of you as you'll find out in approximately 2 chapters.

Please bare with me on the updates and stuff. Writing and trying to make it interesting at the same time is not an easy task. Those other stories I've read with excellent language and interesting plot I commend them all from the bottom of my heart.

I'm also re writing the chapters and re-reading them as much as I could so it makes sense when you guys read it. That's what taking so long for me to update + I work.

IF you are confused by Harry Potter's personality and its details. Then you are on the right path. Harry Potter is not simple or easy to understand. Not a single human being is. Good luck with reading.

* * *

From the author.

Piggy Hell

PS: The next chapter you guys may not like since it's long and detailed. You might not even find it funny.

A note for +)Parody(+ Yes it was intentional I wrote it that way. I know and appreciate humor when reading so I attempt to create light humor for people to see through. If you got them then congratulations you may be one of the few. And apologies for the shifting between character point of view. It won't stay that way for more than the first few chapters into the story.


	5. Bye Bye Dursley

Warning: NC 18 (possibly)

Pairing: Harry/OMC (probably slash)

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all its characters belong to J.K Rowling. I am not making any money out of this (as if anyone would buy it). Anything else I suppose belongs to various people cramming ideas into my head from all their stories. Oh and Twilight belongs to Stephanie Meyers. Sobs uncontrollably.

'…' - thoughts

"…" – speech

* * *

**Of Necromancy and Forbidden Arts**

**Chapter 4 – Bye Bye Dursley  
**

'_Bang'_

_The sound of gunshot rang true._

_

* * *

  
_

The crunch and squelch of brain matter and brains cracking permeated through the room seconds after the gun shot. Splattering bits and pieces of bloodied flesh and matted hair onto the back wall, the almost headless body toppled backwards onto the bed, fingers twitching from aftershock oozing blood only to drip down onto cracked floors stinking up the room with a coppery tang of spilt blood.

Marking the house forever with the smell of death.

…

That's what you thought happened did you.

Well. Of course you also probably thought with the whole introduction with necromancy and all he'd probably received the ability to raise himself from the dead, and therefore comes back to life to extract revenge killing Vernon gruesomely and feeding his brains to undead dogs in the neighborhood.

…

No. That is not what happened although the thought of feeding Vernon to zombie dogs seems rather appealing.

No. The real story is not as gruesome or as _interesting_ as devouring brains and splattering blood on walls. What really happened was much simpler than that. You…could probably say silly even.

-

oOo-----------oOo

-

Harry Potter's body was flung backward from the speed of the bullet that struck its mark, smack bang in the middle of his chest. His neck snapping forward like a doll's almost dislocating itself from his spine. His prone form laid there unmoving, eyes and mouth agape with shock, seemingly dead to the world and one Vernon Dursley.

From behind a smoking barrel, Vernon's eyebrows knotted together in confusion, panting heavily from excitement. His lips shifting undecidedly from triumphant glee and a nervous smile, settling for thinned lips instead. High in the afterglow and triumph from succeeding to land the shot, Vernon's first thought was 'take that Marge'. She always made fun when they shooting seeing as he never managed to land a hit once. Pssh. As if she's actually landed a shot either, 2 years of practice and she can't shoot to save her life.

In the back of his mind, however, Vernon was sure there ought to be blood and splattered brain matters decorating the back wall. Deciding to disregard that thought, putting it down as something about freak of nature. As long as the brat's dead he didn't care really.

While Vernon remained lost in his thoughts, rifled still pointing at the body, a shifting sound distracted him. Blinking owlishly, Vernon lowered -a-lot and turned to look at the door thinking maybe Petunia came to investigate.

When his baby blue eyes met a wall instead of his wife's face, Vernon blinked in confusion once more, still dazed in the afterglow. Another shifting sound accompanied by a soft pained moan was heard once more

'There it is again…who'd be moving no…'Vernon's thoughts stopped dead in its tracks. Eyes widened with realization and horror '_No…_it…it _can't_ be! He's dead _**I**_shot him!'

Turning his beefy head around very slowly at the same thing chanting the 'F' word over and over and with a final burst of courage or fear he looked at the (supposedly) dead body of his nephew. Beady eyes grew into the size of a saucer, mouth agape and face twisted in pure horror, Vernon stumbled back into the wall for safety. Body wracking with tremors, fingers shaking with their attempt to point in accusation to the body in front of him, and then finally Vernon's brain caught up with his body.

And he screamed (like a girl) in harmony with the sound of an enraged shriek.

A shriek that spoke of unadulterated pain and fury.

-

oOo-----------oOo

-

Harry had no time to react, he wasn't lucid or strong enough to reach out for his wand or even attempt to move his body. He only had time for a small gasp and a widening of his expressive green eyes.

Then _pain_. It wasn't so bad this time. But it hurts. A lot. Instead of spreading over his entire body like it did the last time, it's concentrated. Mainly at his lungs and heart.

His heart stopped beating for the brief moment of impact, jolted out of its regular rhythm sending shockwaves to his brain. He had the breath completely knocked out of him. His mind incapable of thinking still reeling in shock from the pain, Harry laid there unmoving.

When numbness seeped over, he tried breathing, only managing small intakes of oxygen at a time. Harry's brain started working once again, only registering the numb throb on his chest. He knew he should have been dead by now. But somehow. He was still alive and kicking. Well more alive than kicking anyways, and breathing.

Oh right. Breathing. Almost forgot about breathing.

Trying for his first big breath, Harry almost cried out from the pain constricting his lungs and throat. After several tries, he got to regulating short breathes instead. Still better than not breathing at all he thought.

His limbs felt like it could move again. Attempting to shift his body to a sitting position so he could survey the damage done to his body, he didn't get very far, only managing to roll his head a little.

It seems his body disagreed with his brain, and somehow decided to stay unmoving. Another stubborn attempt had him shifting his arms and legs a little. A sharp jolt was his reward. Attempting to move but not really getting very far. Only able to shift his arms and legs a little. That sent a sharp jot to his chest muscles as well. This time though he couldn't really suppress the pained moaned escaping from his throat. Merlin…even moans hurt.

Eyes widening with realization at the events which led him here, a lot of pain, then darkness then Vernon…

'Vernon! He _shot_ me!' Harry's demeanor shifted completely.

From confusion to realization, and from realization to downright fury. Harry Potter was _furious. _

Betraying the pain his body was in. Harry snapped his head forward to stare at his uncle who has backed up into the wall, fingers trembling to point at him, almost accusingly.

That gesture along with Vernon's face made Harry lost it. Years of verbal abuse and constant belittling, chores, cupboard under the stairs, Sirius, Dudley, Harry-hunting and everything in between came crashing down on him in one emotional tsunami.

Harry Potter had lost it.

And all anyone could hear from that point…

Was that terrifying shriek promising pain and suffering…on one Vernon Dursley

-

oOo-----------oOo

-

You lot are obviously wondering why one Harry James Potter is still alive and kicking and why the shot wasn't to the head with the distance an all. Right?

Of course I'm right.

And if you've already concluded that one Mr. Potter is an immortal vampire with diamond impenetrable skin similar to that of the Cullen… or if he's become some ravenous beast of the night hell bent on revenge for being shot.

Then you're wrong. So very wrong. But good try though. I love people who think ahead.

No…you will not know what Harry Potter has become until the next chapters.

But yes I suppose…I could reveal the 'past' why Mr. Potter isn't six feet under.

Very simple really…

You see. The reason why Mr. Potter is not bleeding profusely or splattered across the wall is simply because Vernon had not realize the ammo he'd been using is not actually real. He'd been ass-raped by the arms-dealer who thought Vernon was probably too dumb to realize it's actually filled with rubber pellets instead.

And the fact that Vernon never realized they're fake is due to his absolutely piss poor aims. For the past 2 years Vernon had gone hunting with his sister Marge. While she always made fun of him being a crap aimer, she herself never actually made a 'hit' on a single animal. Not once. So…when you put two people who know absolutely nothing about guns, and never made a single shot…you get people who don't realize their bullets are rubber…

Why did the door crack open with a gaping hole? Duuh…that's like the simplest question even you could probably realize.

The Dursley never really did care about one Harry Potter, nor did they fix up the room he's currently staying in now. Which used to belong to Dudley, who, might I add loved boxing. Practicing mainly on the door (with Harry's poorly drawn face stuck to it) for many years.

And when Harry moved in…they didn't bother to check the condition of it…added to that is the daily abuse and temper tantrum Dudley would throw over it to annoy his cousin. Or the incessant banging and knocking Petunia did every morning (on the same spot) to get Harry to cook breakfast or weed the yard. To top it off…Vernon's daily punch-bang marathon on the door to yell at Harry to shut up his ruddy owl.

Would you be surprised if a bullet shot at almost point-blank on a thin (1cm) battered door cracked and splintered the wood? I wouldn't…

Obviously Vernon never could manage an aimed shot and therefore missed Harry's head, as he closed his eyes when he took the shot.

Silly really. Harry Potter's streak of luck.

I guess Fate couldn't have her favorite bitch die huh?

Anyways…getting back to the story

-

oOo-----------oOo

-

Vernon Dursley was screaming.

He couldn't tell the difference between his screams and the monster staring back at him with glowing green eyes. Then all of a sudden he was no longer staring at those eyes. And all he could see was the palm of a creamy white hand glimmering in the rays of the moon, and five pointy fingernails resting on his beefy face.

Was this the freak?

How could he not see it before? Why didn't he die? I shot him? No? What?

And then as if the world came crashing down on him. His mind shifted to one thing and one thing only.

'Oh god' Vernon's thought trembled

'I'm gonna die'…

Then all Vernon could remember was pain and red seeping from his vision.

And then Mr. Dursley was no more.

-

oOo-----------oOo

-

In the midst of the silence and blood splattered room, a lone figure stood over the unrecognizable corpse of one Vernon Dursley. Face shrouded by inky black hair and shadows. Their pearly white skin glowing softly with the moon's embrace contrasted beautifully with the specks of blood marring their arms and face.

A terrifying beauty…

The figure twitched its face sideways a little, cocking its head like an animal, as if hearing something treading softly its way.

It wasn't disappointed, for in the corner of Harry Potter's bedroom door stood one terrified Petunia Dursley and a shell-shocked Dudley, trembling hands clamped like a vice over their mouths. The figure scrunched up its nose a little with a snarl and a huff.

Figures…the whale lost his bowels and the horse wet herself.

Green eyes looked up from behind long bangs to stare balefully at the frozen figures. Holding its gaze long enough for the figures to slump over in a dead faint, it huffed condescendingly. How pathetic. At least its temper has settled down somewhat.

Shrugging its shoulder happily, the figure snapped its fingers with a satisfying 'click' and Harry Potter's belongings stood floating before it. Reaching its hand and opening the trunk, and pulling out a familiar red book.

Pulling the book closer to its lithe body, a small smile formed on its lips. A long glance at the bloodied corpse and two unmoving figures it made up its mind.

"Evidence…Azkaban…Witness…_Dumbledore_…_pay_" single word sentences seemed to register from its mouth. The last two words came out with a hiss and narrowed eyes.

'Dumbledore…must…pay' was its final thought.

Another click of its hand the figure and Harry Potter's belonging disappeared from the house…leaving nothing behind…not a trace of DNA. Not a trace of magic.

With a pause of silence…everything was over.

Then…

'Boom'

Number 4 Privet Drive exploded in a sea of Avada Kedavra green flames.

* * *

Tada…

Chapter 4 is up…

I don't think this chapter was captured very well with words. It looked really good in my mind though…Avada green…elongated nails…glowing eyes…pearly white skin…splattered blood and body parts…sea of fire…

:D


	6. A Little Bit of Harry

Warning: NC 18 (possibly)

Pairing: Harry/OMC (probably slash)

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all its characters belong to J.K Rowling. I am not making any money out of this (as if anyone would buy it). Anything else I suppose belongs to various people cramming ideas into my head from all their stories. Oh and Twilight belongs to Stephanie Meyers. Sobs uncontrollably.

'…' - thoughts

"…" – speech

* * *

**Of Necromancy and Forbidden Arts**

**Chapter 5 – A Bit more of Harry Potter**

_'Boom'_

_Number 4 Privet Drive exploded in a sea of Avada Kedavra green flames._

-

oOo-----------oOo

-

In the town of Little Hangleton, once well known for its green pastures and welcoming neighbors now housed only old rickety town houses and yellow unkempt lawns. But also…this town, unbeknown to none but three most powerful figures of the Wizarding World, was once a home to the most feared Dark Lord of all times.

It has been almost 50 years ago that a freak accident occurred, unexplainable events that the police and fire departments could not fathom. The darkened sky was ablaze with red hot flames licking at everything in its path destroying almost everything, leaving death in its wake. Only a small orphanage stood almost completely harmless a little way out of town. A freak accident alright. Even though it was never taken down with the rest of its neighboring houses, all the inhabitants within said orphanage never made it out…children…nurses…caretakers…all dead. Unknown cause of death. Freak anomaly.

As of now, the town's population remained one single digit of 'zero', uninhabitable to all living creatures. A sense of danger and destruction still lingers the air until now, pushing all visitors and passer-by to speed along without looking back.

Oh! But wait…as of today. In the town of Little Hangleton, the population count has changed to '1'. The population count could belong to none other but a wizard. Strong enough to withstand the stench of death and destruction, and knows of its significant importance. And since there have ever been three individuals to ever know of it. One has come here before with eyes burning bright with revenge, another with kind calculating compassion and hidden agendas.

The last however, the last, came with glowing eyes and disinterest. No hidden meaning in their arrival, only to find a retreat, a safeguard and undisturbed silence. These glowing eyes belong to none other than one Harry James Potter.

-

oOo-----------oOo

-

A lone figure stood behind tattered and broken window of a run-down house on the outskirts of town, overlooking the darkened hillsides and decaying trees. Glowing green orbs stared unwavering unfocused out into the blackened woods. Resting in the corners behind him rested an old tattered trunk, a silvery bird's stand/cage and a magical broom resting against old grey walls. The small room holding broken down bunk-beds and cupboard giving off a faint smell of decayed and burnt wood, doing nothing for the figure's sense of smell. Still…the figure stood there, undisturbed by the stench and foreboding atmosphere.

In the figure's hand, cradled carefully between pale and nimble fingers was a small tea cup decorated artfully and beautifully with gold portraits of badgers, almost with a golden glow. It was this very cup that once belonged to the greatest of Hogwart's four, Helga Hufflepuff. And it was also this very cup that housed one of the Dark Lord's seven split souls.

Shifting the cup into one hand, using the other to tracing lazily on the rims with elongated shimmering blue fingernails, with every move wisps of black tendrils rose like flames only to disappear moments later. Making a complete circle, a small satisfied smile appeared on perfectly shaped bow-like lips. So there stood one Harry James Potter, staring out unfocused into the woods, tracing lazy circles on the rims of a dark artifact housing the soul of his arch nemesis.

Softly spoken words whispered across the room from said lips, an almost melodious tune to each word.

"What predicament we find ourselves in…Tom. Never once had I thought to visit your 'home'. It reminds me of 'my' home"

"Yes…we _are_ much alike you and I"

Cocking his head a little, a small smile gracing his lips, "Dumbledore had made mistakes before? He_ is _old after all. He should not have made that mistake with me... if it was a mistake at all. Pawns for his war he thinks we are. Shaping the world for the greater good he thinks he has"

"Enough. I know of his many mistakes and errors. There is no need to fault an old man for his ideals. You have yours as well. As I have mine. The past shall remain as that. The past"

"True. With every collected soul I harvest from your hidden fragments I grow stronger with knowledge and power. Your present self will exist no more. And you will get your final resting peace. That is a promise."

No. Harry Potter is not having a one sided conversation with himself nor is he delusional. It came as a surprise to Harry that his first apparition experiment had brought him to this deadened town, with so much dark magic lingering in the atmosphere. His second surprise came in the form of flowing images of different memories…until he realized whose they were, recognizing several events.

The memories and knowledge of one Tom Marvolo Riddle they were. He admitted he panicked a little…

Hell who was he kidding, he panicked a lot. One does not go about reliving the Dark Lord's memories for no apparent reason. He did calm down though, since he knew of the fragment of Tom's soul leeching off his magical signature. Dumbledore had educated him quite a bit during the school year. Tom's past, his ideals, his goals, childhood and adulthood. It surprised Harry though…that they were so similar in many ways. Almost one and the same really, and including Dumbledore's interest in the both of them.

Dumbledore had also told him all he knew of Horcruxes. How many there are, how many had been destroyed and what he believes they were hidden within. And one of them…by Dumbledore's theory was in the accursed scar Voldermort gave him as a baby. Through their link, a soul had been fragmented away into his body. An ever present entity that would lie dormant until its removal, whichever way that was, Dumbledore didn't share his thoughts. But Harry knew different. He was not expected to survive past the final war with Voldermort.

But that has changed now. With whatever happened last night. That fragment of the Dark Lord's soul which should have lain dormant came to life, with his own magical imprints and signature…binding the soul fragment together with his and passing on its memories before the initial split. With it though…was the abundance of knowledge from Tom's sabbatical and magical journey across the world. Dark magic, forbidden arts, necromancy, blood and soul magic…Horcruxes creation and its destruction.

It was also surprising to know that he now has a separate entity, which the dark lord's soul fragment was merging with his own core, pulling with it his consciousness. And therefore separating his mind into two parts, his own conscious mind…and the one residing as a parasite in Tom's soul…

Confusing really. Until it had taken the initiative to introduce itself as his inner self…which separated to become his 'other' self…and is now having a conversation with him…using Tom's memories and creating its very own identity of Tom Riddle.

Yes. Confusing indeed. His own conscious splitting into two and taking over the Dark Lord's soul. He doubted how much he can trust that soul though, until it merged Tom's memories and his own together and is now part of him…therefore if he dies…so would the consciousness. And that is why it is now his mental professor and guiding council. Pretty neat…yes?

Right now they have come to a standing truce. Harry has absorbed most of the Dark Lord's memories and knowledge of different magical arts, and has a second opinion to maximize the best solutions.

And right now…after long hours of conversation in the orphanage Tom grew up in, finding Hufflepuff's tea cup housing another soul fragment, and with the final decision to destroy it with the knowledge 'Tom' possessed about Horcruxes.

Quite simple really…according to 'Tom', now that the Dark Lord shared Harry's blood in his body, technically it is possible for him to destroy it by adding enough magical powers into a drop of his blood and the intent of destroying.

Yes. Harry Potter will destroy this Horcrux…right after he extracts its memories of course. Let it be known that Harry Potter is no longer weak and pathetic. A Slytherin to the core…and a proud owner of one 'self-conscious-mental-self-possessing-the-Dark-Lord's-Soul-Fragment'...

The evil smile gracing his lips for the first time in 17 years…

It was very evil too…

Hee Hee…

-

oOo-----------oOo

-

In an elegantly decorated room hidden away under the fidelius charm, lay atop black silk sheets on a beautifully carved bed a figure garbed in acromantula silk of the most expensive kind. Was the most feared Dark Lord of all times…Voldermort.

His very name strikes fear to every single wizard in Great Britain…his presence alone could bring you down on your knees with unsuppressed terror.

But right now…the snake-like figure after his eventual resurrection lay restless, tossing and turning. Beads of sweat rolling off his body, clinging to his robes uncomfortably, nonexistent eyebrows knitting together, lipless mouths pursed and teeth grinding continuously…

Lord Voldermort is definitely not liking this night…pain wracking through his body unreasonable. An uncomfortable feeling building up in his stomach…sleep disappearing from him almost an hour ago, leaving behind only pain…

He knew something was wrong…very wrong…something beyond his control. But what could it be? He made sure to cover all his tracks, every plan thought through perfectly. His servants fully under his control and Horcruxes hidden away safely from…

His Horcruxes…Dumbledore and the Potter brat had destroyed two already…another in the old man's possession, while the others were hidden in plain sight. Dumbledore would never have guessed where they were. Right? Of course he was right. He made sure of it, and his plans were perfectly executed in every way. But that Potter boy could have stumbled upon it…couldn't he? He is one of them after all. But his soul would never betray him would it…

Lost in his thought…Voldermort never noticed a wisp of black mist slowly encasing his entire body until it was too late.

Screaming out in pain…Voldermort realized too late.

It had happened two times before after all.

The pain accompanying a departure of his fragmented souls…

* * *

Apologies to all readers out there- -...some how my chapters has not reached Harry's inheritence yet. LOL For reasons unknown I made sure next chapter WILL be about Harry's physical changes.

Oh...there are also not many people talking...to each other...

But there will be people talking after next chapter....or maybe in the next chapter

HAHAHA I haven't decided yet.

Sorry about that.


	7. If Looks Could Kill

Warning: NC 18 (possibly)

Pairing: Harry/OMC (probably slash)

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all its characters belong to J.K Rowling. I am not making any money out of this (as if anyone would buy it). Anything else I suppose belongs to various people cramming ideas into my head from all their stories. Oh and Twilight belongs to Stephanie Meyers. Sobs uncontrollably.

'…' - thoughts

"…" – speech

To my readers. I am SO sorry - - I have been neglecting the story for quite a bit, with the weather so hot it feels like being barbequed alive. Basically, I've been sleeping quite a bit as well. HEHE. But I have already written the 1st copy for this chapter already, just waiting for a re-reading and re-writing.

* * *

**Of Necromancy and Forbidden Arts**

**Chapter 6 – If looks could kill**

_It had happened two times before after all._

_The pain accompanying a departure of his fragmented souls… _

* * *

After dealing with Voldermort's soul fragment Harry James Potter had a little time for a breather…a little time to think. He dreaded this moment knowing that eventually he'd had to actually look at himself. The changes could be anything…he could be absolutely hideous!?

The _horror_ that'd bring to his mind would be astronomical. Might as well die and get it over with.

-

oOo-----------oOo

-

While Harry Potter has a mental breakdown in the far corner of this room why don't we have a little chat and look into the distant past. Just a little something to occupy ourselves with shall we?

Oh?

Who am I?

Well. My name is also Harry Potter. Just pretend time's frozen or something. Kapish?!

_I _am what you'd call the sub-conscious mind I suppose.

What is _moi_ doing here…with you? Like…that's so totally obvious duh. I'm like…here to give you insight about 'moi' or if you'd wanna be technical then it's 'my other conscious self'.

To educate you _lowly_ readers of course (waves hands imperiously) didn't the author tell you anything about me? (Glares scathingly at said author – eaahh) Shame on YOU!

Anyways like whatever. We're getting off track here.

Harry hadn't always been such a drama queen and melodramatic like Malfoy or anything like that. But since childhood he'd never actually had the chance to see his own image per say. The mirror in the bathroom were too small…and he couldn't find a stool or climb the sink, as well as those cooking utensils were much too bendy to see his actual proportionate self.

That didn't do too well for a child's self conscience really. For all he knew he might actually _be_ ugly. Dudley said so _many_ times before when he was watching the television on beautiful people.

Anywho…Harry, according to adults he'd passed in supermarkets and teachers alike always looked at him funny. They get all starry eyed and weird smily faces…brrr…demented lot they were. Funny that…for what Harry thought they looked at him in pity. Pity for Merlin's balls!?

No. Actually they were staring at what they refer to as a 'beautiful child' squealing and ahhing like Robert Pattison crazy fan girls.

But well what did you expect? For Harry to actually see them differently? Puhlease…he grew up with the Dursleys for crying out loud. The only words used to describe him were 'boy' 'you ugly thing' 'Fool' 'Freak' 'Useless' and so on yadda yadda. That word list may probably be miles long.

Up until he went to primary school or pre-school or whatever school babies go to, he never really did see his face all that much…or his body too really.

So when he did arrive at school and all the teachers were giving him 'the look' as he'd come to call it. His first reaction was to back into a corner and scream in horror…but he didn't of course. That would be very silly. And Harry did not do silly. No. He stood and took it like the (short) man (boy) that he was. Proud and tall.

So sometimes during recess, he went to the bathroom to do his customary visit for no.1 and no.2 and while washing his hands he noticed the mirror…that was in front of him.

Reflecting something back…until he realized he was staring back at himself. He didn't squeal in horror because he found himself ugly (he was very proud of that). A short session of crazy dancing and face making assured him of its authenticity.

And so he stood there and really looked at himself. Being self conscious of his body image since sometimes ago…he did comparisons to other children he'd seen around the neighborhood…Dudley…television…aunt Petunia's magazines. And realized that hey…he was pretty darn adorable!

He liked that.

He liked that a lot.

Beautiful cherub face, rosy cheeks framed by cute messy raven locks. Round emerald orbs and a button nose to boot.

From then on…Harry has always kept a check on his looks. A peek here, a look there. Satisfied to go on with his day, making sure his pretty little face remained that way. It was his mother's and father's after all! Don't want to go losing those.

Not that Harry Potter was vain! Good Merlin no! He just…really liked how he looked…that's all. You can't judge me! (Screams bloody murder)

But when the years started to pass and he grew even more handsome/beautiful people actually started to notice. At first he didn't mind, a pat on the head here and some praises.

Then the _girls_ started noticing him. Good god that was a horror in itself. They have _cooties_. Always coming around to talk to him, fluttering their eye lashes and stuff, touching his hands and twisting their bodies around while they talk…and blushing. For Merlin's sake they're like…9!

It was at that moment Harry Potter decided he was going to be butt-ugly. Just to avoid the crazy girls hanging around him.

He started to wear Dudley's bigger-than-life clothes all the while stretching to make them bigger – so he could hide his body.

Washed his hair once every week to keep it messy and a little musty as well as provoking Petunia into giving him a 'hair cut' – so he no longer looked cute and let the hair frame his face.

Stayed out in the sun longer than usual while weeding the grass to give himself an uneven tan – so he no longer looked cute and clean.

And for once. It worked. The girls stayed away. The adults stopped giving him a strange look. Harry Potter fitted in with the normal crowd. And he was happy. Because he knew that underneath all that crap and ugliness he looked might fine. And it was that routine Harry Potter kept until this very day.

The day he was sure he was no longer human…and that he felt himself ready to brave the world with his head held high, garbed in tight spandex and red underwear with a cape to boot.

He felt like a brand spanking new superman.

Oh! Damn!

I've talked too long…Harry's come back from la-la-land (ooh Demi Lovato)

BYE!!

-

oOo-----------oOo

-

Coming back to his senses, cursing his rampant emotions and whatever creature he'd turned into once again. Calming down slightly from the self induced panicked. Ugh. Rolling his eyes at the thought, self induced my ass. He's like a bloody girl on crack bawling her eyes out at every sentence.

Schooling his features to that of indifference and collected coolness (as much as his emotions would let him anyways). Bracing himself, he withdrew his wand and conjured up a body-length mirror eyes closed halfway through the incantation.

'I hope I don't regret this…or bawl like a little girl' was his last thought before summoning the courage to open his eyes.

Blinking at the image staring back at him several times his mouth widening slightly.

"Damn…"

-

oOo-----------oOo

-

Although before Harry Potter was rather small (and short) for his age with a half starved appearance (Dursley's summer diet plan) his mind denied that accusation and played it off as being petite. Short croppy black hair messier than a bird's nest was his usual daily image as well as Dudley's usual cast-offs. That was what he was used to seeing.

Just until yesterday of course.

Because right now what stared back at him was someone who was still considerably petite…but in a very _good_ way. A very good way indeed.

Stunning emerald orbs speckled with varying shades of green that shimmered slightly in the sun loving rays seemed to 'pop' just right against his snow white complexion.

Delicate facial features and high cheek bones complimented a straight nose and full luscious lips beautifully framed with gorgeous waves of black hair falling elegantly to lower back. Small braided beads scattered stylishly between layers of hair intertwined with silk green ribbons. Inky black locks seeming to flow with non-existent soft winds.

Flawless white skin that rivaled falling snows of winter were lightly dusted with glittering silver particles forming exotic floral twirls of body art starting from swan-like neck slithering trails of a lover's caress on slender body circling delicate hips only to dipping into loose cotton pants hiding drool worthy posterior and curling softly between long toned legs only to form a small silvery rose on the outsides of each thigh.

Artfully decorated silver tattoos of roses and lilies sparsely littered slender arms and smooth hands complimenting light blue retractable finger nails.

A wild yet delicate beauty, exotic and graceful was Harry James Potter personified.

God's finest creation of sculptured beauty…he could stare at himself for days on end. The halo reflected from light shining through the window made him look even more sinfully angelic.

Whatever creature he was, because it was painfully obvious that he is one…the roses and lilies pattern clearly suggests something to do with mother-nature…or flowers.

Merlin…he hoped not. A flower creature…how girly is he going to get.

Maybe that's why his emotions are so 'bitchy' these days. Gotta solve that one.

Perking up and eyes sparkling…maybe he was an Elf! Hermione lectured he and Ron enough about them to recognize their traits. Oh…wait. He had normal ears…and absolutely no height at all, something all Elves have.

Grumbling in annoyance at his lack of growth to empty space Harry decided he had someone that could be useful to him with the decades of knowledge and all…

"…Tom..." Harry mumbled childishly to his other conscience

"…yes Harry?"

"What am I exactly?"

"A very short boy" Tom deadpanned "Oh I beg your pardon…a _very very_ short boy" smirk.

"…" silence

If only looks could strangle their own conscience...

-

oOo-----------oOo

-

* * *

So very very sorry for this very very late chapter.

It's taken me sometimes to really think of how he looked…it shouldn't have been that hard but yeah tried writing in on the internet but then my connection cut and then the firefox froze as it downloaded another page…then it restarted and I was back to 12 words. Lol.


	8. A Fated Path

Warning: NC 18 (possibly)

Pairing: Harry/OMC (probably slash)

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all its characters belong to J.K Rowling. I am not making any money out of this (as if anyone would buy it). Anything else I suppose belongs to various people cramming ideas into my head from all their stories. Oh and Twilight belongs to Stephanie Meyers. Sobs uncontrollably.

'…' - thoughts

"…" – speech

* * *

**Of Necromancy and Forbidden Arts**

**Chapter 7 – A Fated Path**

"…" _silence_

_If only looks could strangle their own conscience..._

_

* * *

  
_

After a long and winding lecture to his conscience 'Tom' on how to treat his betters, or in his case his better host – who was nice and caring and adorably lovable in every single way – with an added bonus of heated glaring at the mirror's reflection in hopes that his other self would set on fire and die but when that didn't work out to his expectation, Harry resorted to doing things himself by pulling on Tom's memories of magical creatures he encountered around the world and some. Settling himself no his beloved trunk and resting his head and back on the slightly flaky wall, he delved into his mental subconscious with Tom.

He learned this particular trick when Tom suddenly transferred memories of how to achieve mental stability over one's own mind and to an extent a stepping stone to mastering the arts of occlumency and legillimency.

Apparently, he did find memories that confirmed his creature origins. A very obscure branch of water dryads that may very well be extinct by now, Tom commented that he stumbled across those particular species somewhere in Northern Europe while he was studying on French medieval torture techniques. Harry raised one delicate eyebrow at that revelation. However, in Tom's defense – hastily given might he add – he was learning how to incorporate well known muggle tortures with magical ones for particular effects…or something Harry didn't really bother listening to.

Tom could make all kinds of reasonably educated excuses but Harry knew better.

Tom was a closet masochist.

When Tom did learn of Harry's inner musing. A lot of mental shouting ensured. Harry pouted childishly while Tom gave him the equivalent of a middle finger, much emphasis on the middle finger. As they came to a grudging truce, Tom then further explained that these particular dryads were special in the ways that they were amphibious from his distant observations. And that their body art tattoos varied in terms of their selected floral descent as well as having relatively short hold on their emotions, very much like Harry.

He also found out the hard way that they held a truly exotic mastery of floral and botanical magic. Tom explained that this particular species intrigued him a little in their reasonable resemblances to Veelas – for their beauty and grace while could be argued that they were as beautiful as the flowers of their choosing and graceful in their sways in the sun. And MerFolks for their shimmering silvery skin that glowed with ethereal light in the darkness and light.

Pondering slightly from who's side did he inherit such strange and exotic creature inheritance from…he'd put his bet on his dad really. The Marauders never did anything by half, why would his father be any different. It was also pretty much more likely for the fact that his father was a Pureblood while his mother a muggleborn – albeit a powerful one.

Harry asked him what kind of magic the dryads over flowers and was given a memory to look into instead. What he saw was rather awe inspiring and extremely hilarious. It would seem that back in the days of his sabbatical journey, Tom Marvolo Riddle was not as graceful as he was this very day for he literally stumbled into the clearing in front of their pond over a mere rock the size of a fist – it kinda stood out too – as he wanted a closer observation on their markings and overall appearance.

What a dumbass.

When the dryads did spot him though, their initial reaction was spectacular for they did see him as a threat – or a nuisance Tom couldn't tell – one literally yanked a flower tattoo out from their mid thigh (a rose) and out came a blood red thorn whip crafted purely from rose petals. It was kind of a havoc from then on.

From Harry's perspective as an observer – he was rolling on the floor with mirth – seeing a future Dark Lord running around like a headless chicken trying to avoid behind smacked by a whip. Tom smirked evilly at Harry for a moment before moving his eyes back to his younger self. Harry never did see that smirk for he was still laughing with tears in his eyes. Nor did he hear Tom whisper softly 'Wait until you see this then'

And then the 'battle' went to hell from then on. When the dryads realized their conjured whip wasn't working very well with the intruder/threat she, for that was obviously what it was, changed tactics. Almost all of them submerged into the pond and out of sight leaving the only one that was battling Tom in the field.

Drawing the whip downwards, she nicked himself in the finger and smeared a trickle of blood onto the sides of the whip and threw it upwards into the air. As it twisted and coiled lifelessly the most stunning image Harry felt he'd ever seen in his life – and Tom's as well for he stopped running to stare – the rose whip reaching its momentum height exploded outwards in a circle of shimmering rose petals pulsing a deep red magical aura. The once sunny and bright clearing was suddenly plunged into a haze of red and covered in green leaves and red roses twisting around each other forming a red cyclone.

Harry had stopped laughing by now, slacked jaws and pretty eyes popping out of their sockets.

The dryad who stood in the heart of said cyclone was partially obscured, animal leather garment flowing rather high exposing creamy toned legs, ridiculously red hair flipping around violently. But the glowing red eyes were a show stopper.

Merlin was the image before them terrifying.

So damn beautiful but a hell of a lot more frightening.

Opening its mouth as to scream, the dryad pulled back both her arms and threw them forward, eyes pulsing a deep red once, the cyclone stopped moving almost immediately. The leaves and petals halted its movement and twisted on its sides, then raced towards a frozen Tom likes a sea of arrow. Shocked out of his stupor, Tom collected himself for the brief second before those razor sharp petals reached his person and apparated away just a hair's breadth from being skewered alive. Then the memory ended.

Harry was frozen to the spot…and may possibly have wet himself a little

Tom was now outright smirking.

They were standing just behind the memory Tom when the whole battle started…so it was probably rather shocking to have _that_ hurtling at you with full speed.

Reaching down with his hands to fumble a little with the fabric of his cotton pants, Harry's eyes nearly 'popped' out from their sockets.

Yep.

He wet himself.

A little.

-

oOo-----------oOo

-

Back in the silent neighborhood of Privet Drive, a group of people clad in pajamas and night gowns stood in a sort of semi circle in front of where No.4 used to be, staring slacked jaws, bewildered, shocked, and many other emotions running through their faces.

All that stood there was now a circle of wild and exotic flowers. It wouldn't have been strange a sight for they were used to Petunia's lush gardens and normally exotic looking front yard she used to preen and boast to whomever walked past.

No what shocked them the most was actually this…

For the fence and its yard was exactly where it was the night ago. But the house…the house was completely gone and left a circle of blackened grass about 15 centimeters thick and the width of the actual house, while the exotic flowers grew _inside_ of the circle and not anywhere outside of the blackened grass. The neighbors didn't know what to think. How did all this happen in one single night? How could they not see the fire? And where did those plants come from in such a small space of time? They didn't know how to react nor did they call the police. If there was one thing they did know not to do was actually _call_ the police in this situation.

It was painfully obvious that if they did, the police would come, took one look at the place and then call in the _other_ police force for help. What this _other_ police force would do was the reason why they never made that call. Government assigned department of the police force to deal with paranormal activities – they were _very_ sure this was a paranormal activity for the exotic flowers were actually still moving inside the _freaking_ circle for crying out loud – they would likely detain the area for contamination and possible alien invasion prevention and that in itself meant _they_ would also be _detained _for _questioning_ and made sure of being contaminant free.

This translated to experimental projects for abnormalies, possible alien infestation or dissecting their innards to further their studies. So, acting as a collective hive mind – scary as it may sound – they collected all their fuels and petrol and any of their unused furniture and junk then set the entire yard of No.4 Privet Drive ablaze in a bonfire, burning everything to a crisp black. And should the police come knocking on their doors. As one their story would be – the Vernon got a job in a higher position somewhere else and decided to relocate the family to a newly furnished home, and seeing as their house was pretty run down with hardly anything worth salvaging took the decision in burning down the house – inviting others to join with their junks – and reduce everything to ashes.

If the police insist on asking more questions – they would then seal the deal that Vernon plans on rebuilding the entire place for Dudley in a couple of years and decided to give it a head start with little to no money wasted on de-construction of the building. The actual property was still in their name, but the one thing they decided not to mention of at all…was one Harry James Potter…also known to the neighbors as a delinquent and a criminal child they'd always turned a blind eye for that boy, his eyes unsettled them greatly.

Too bad though, that the one neighbor who could report back to a certain old coot was not present at that time, Arabella Figgs, took her yearly holiday to visit her distant cousin in Mexico…but unfortunately on her way to the house on the outskirt of town, was where she met an unpleasant demise at the hands of a street pickpocket who decided he liked her hat very much.

And when she refused to part with said hat…the pickpocket parted it for her…with a rather sharp axe to her head.

It would seem that Fate…or Magic did not want _anything_ to get in the way of one Harry James Potter.

Perhaps…he wasn't Fate's Bitch after all.

* * *

Since the last chapter took a million years to get uploaded I spent quite some times (partially the whole day) writing this chapter to follow it to make up for the time.

Yes! I killed off my first character…although not gruesomely I now have less people to write about. Wahaha I love killing off people. ^^ V. (Apologies to all those who like Arabella Figgs – but well…she ain't got no role in this story)

Kiss Kiss.

Piggy Hell.

PS: Next chapter has people talking! OMG I'm so happy. I want lots of people to talk and talk.


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